Beautiful
by dreamydark
Summary: Even talking to Elizabeta without a frying pan to the face is nearly impossible for Gilbert. But he's never let that stop him. PruHun


He thinks she's beautiful.

No. She _is _beautiful

That's the reason Gilbert is standing on a ladder precariously perched on the windowsill, watching her. It is midafternoon (the metal of the ladder rungs is almost too hot to touch) and she's just doing some paperwork, but the sun streaming through the window illuminates her figure and just makes everything _shine_. Her hair catches the sunlight, turning gold, and her eyes squint to see the tiny print better.

_Beautiful._

And now she's turning her head towards the window, sunshine making her face glow. She walks towards the window and—oh, _Scheiße_.

"Gilbert," she says threateningly—but her voice is still so _beautiful_—opening the window. "What are you doing here?"

First, before he answers, Gilbert dives through the open window. The opening is small, and he lands hard on his elbows—those bruises are going to stay for days—but at least now he isn't in danger of falling from two stories high. He flinches as he hears the ladder fall to the ground with a loud clatter of metal. If he had been on that…

But seeing Elizabeta was worth it.

Gilbert pushes himself off the ground, conscious of the Hungarian standing directly behind him with frying pan ready. He winces as he feels his elbows twang in protest of the movement. Standing up with unsteady legs, he turns to face her.

And his heart stops beating for a moment.

The breeze blowing from the open window tousles her hair, and the sun glints off the glasses (how did he not notice this before? She always wore glasses when doing paperwork) perched on her nose.

"Beautiful," he breathes out, almost in a trance.

"What?" Elizabeta's confused for a second, but then she remembers why she was even talking to the Prussian in the first place. "Explain what you were doing there. Now."

"I was…watching you." He's a little disoriented, and the fact that Elizabeta's _right there_ did nothing to help.

"So…you were stalking me."

"Eh? Stalking? I wasn't…oh." Now that Gilbert thinks about it, his actions did make him seem a little like a stalker. He was staring at Elizabeta through the window, not trying to be noticed. But it wasn't like he was trying to be creepy…

"What are you planning now?" She's not particularly scared, just annoyed.

Gilbert backs away, fearful of the cast-iron frying pan held in Elizabeta's right hand. "Um…nothing?" He curses the way his voice shook. Definitely not awesome.

"Oh, so you expect me to believe you were standing outside my window _like a stalker_ for absolutely no reason?"

"Well, _ja_, I suppose."

"Please. Not even _Antonio _ is that dense." She steps closer and now Gilbert is in imminent danger of being mauled by a frying pan. "You better leave now, or else…"

He really should leave now. But when has Gilbert ever done something he should? "Or else what?" he asks, arrogance dripping of every syllable. In the relative safety of his mind, he curses his pride. Again.

Elizabeta raises a thin eyebrow. She hadn't expected him to be this stupid. "You asked for it." That's the last sound Gilbert hears before Elizabeta's frying pan collides with his head and he crumples to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

Gilbert shoves the door open, causing it to slam against the wall. A small picture that was hanging on a peg falls to the floor and shatters, but he ignores it. One person looks up and waves. "You're late."

"I don't care." He sits down suddenly, and the old chair, unused to the weight, collapses. Gilbert falls down flailing, and as he scrambles up he is distinctly aware of someone laughing at him. He tries to brush it off like it never happened, and glowers because he can still see the small smirk.

Shaking with badly-stifled laughter, Arthur pulls over a chair (that looks new, thank god) and helps Gilbert off the ground. "Hm…what happened?" He points to the dark bruise on Gilbert's forehead.

"Nothing," Gilbert retorts defensively. "It's none of your business."

The Briton shrugs. "Whatever you say." He turns away, taking a deep swig from his glass of whiskey. Gilbert can see the light flush of his cheeks from the alcohol, but it's not much.

"Hey, serving girl! Over here, we're waiting," he calls out.

The aforementioned 'serving girl' looks up and pointedly ignores him, making the albino seethe with anger. "Don't ignore me, _Hure_!" The girl flips him off, and he complains to Arthur, "Rude…"

"Calling someone a whore isn't exactly polite either."

"Wait, you're my friend, you're supposed to take my side!"

Arthur turns and looks at him, (mock?) disbelief in his voice. "Since when?"

"Since when what?" Gilbert can't really tell if Arthur's just being sarcastic (which is the likely option) or if it's actually a real question (very improbable).

"Since when were we friends?"

Gilbert gasps in mock horror, and in his best imitation of Francis's voice, he says, "Arthur!" The tone is overly high-pitched and it sounds quite strange, but Arthur seems to get it.

His eyes widen. "No. Just no. Don't even try. Not that—that _frog_!"

Gilbert is honestly a little surprised. He had expected Arthur's reaction to be something like this, but not that dramatic. "Something happen?"

"N-no, of co-course not! W-why would you think that?" It's painfully obvious he's lying.

Gilbert leans into Arthur's face, smirking. "C'mon, you can tell me…"

Arthur backs away, nearly falling off the chair. He steadies himself, and calls out, "Hey! You, over here!"

The girl looks up, irritated, but still listens. She hands Arthur another glass of whiskey, which he downs in a few gulps.

Gilbert is annoyed. "Wait, you listen to him,"—he points—"and not the awesome me?"

"He paid. You didn't." She gives Arthur yet another glass, which he sets down. It's then that the Prussian notices the pile of empty glasses around Arthur.

"Woah…how much did you drink?"

"Hm?" Arthur sways a little, not completely drunk but getting there. "You mean all these?" He gestures to the mass of empty glasses, and Gilbert nods. "Oh…Mathias was here earlier, but um…that Norwegian, his name is…I don't know, but he dragged him out. These are mostly his."

"I don't even know why he puts up with that guy."

"I think it's because…because…they're, um…" He pauses, and finishes his something-th glass. It's clear he is very close to being fully drunk. "Dating."

Gilbert makes an odd choking sound. "Wait, _what_?"

"You didn't know?"

"No! When did this happen?"

Arthur looks off into the distance, trying to remember. "…a while back, ac…actually." He's starting to slur his words.

"Then why didn't I know about this?"

"Because…becaushe…" He stops, and throws his arms around Gilbert, sobbing drunkenly.

"Hey! Get off—"

"You were alwaysh with Eli…Elisha…and den you forgot all about ush! Dat'sh not fair!" Gilbert can see the girl shaking with laughter. "Sho den…Mathiash left and I wash all alone!" He clutches on to Gilbert's shirt.

Gilbert fumbles awkwardly, trying to get Arthur _off_ him, when Arthur abruptly pulls away looking _perfectly fine_, the little bastard. "Eh?" The Briton tilts his head. "When did…" He leans closer to the albino and none-too-gently pokes the dark bruise on his forehead.

"Fucking _Hurensohn_! _Schei__βe_, what was that for!" Gilbert pulls back, renewed pain flooding his skull. He curses angrily in his native tongue, demanding an explanation.

A slow, drunken smile makes its way onto Arthur's face. "…frying pan?" he asks, the picture of innocence.

Gilbert glares at Arthur, now hating how perceptive his friend(?) could be under the right conditions. And when drunk. "Oh, _Halt die Fresse_!"

* * *

Gilbert knocks on the door, apprehensive. His last encounter with Elizabeta had ended badly, so how would this one go?

"Could you please wait a minute?" Even muffled by the door, Elizabeta's voice still sounds absolutely beautiful. He shifts his weight nervously, hiding the bouquet of flowers behind his back.

Elizabeta opens the door, and—_oh._

It's obvious she just took a shower, and all she seems to be wearing is a mint green robe. Her hair is wet (but that flower is still there, for some reason) and the dim glow from the moon makes it seems as if it was shimmering. Her eyes are this vibrant shade of viridian, and everything just combines into this one perfect picture that Gilbert can't take his eyes off of.

_Beautiful._

Gilbert just stares, entranced. He barely hears Elizabeta's surprised squeak of "Gil-Gilbert? What are you—" Realizing that her words are having no effect (and Gilbert's stare is starting to scare her) she grasps the Prussian's shoulders and gives him a rough shake.

Snapped out of his trance, Gilbert greets the Hungarian. "Oh…_Hallo_…Elizabeta." He's vaguely aware of the idiotic smile pasted on his face, but it doesn't really matter, because what does matter is the beautiful Hungarian right in front of him.

Elizabeta has a light red color dusted over her cheeks, presumably from being caught by Gilbert of all people in such a state. "What are you doing here?"

The question barely registers in Gilbert's mesmerized mind. "…I wanted to give these to you." Overcome with a fierce blush, he shyly hands the bouquet of flowers to her. He's acting decidedly unawesome now but…it's _her_.

Elizabeta blinks, not really sure what was happening. She considers it for a moment, decides that Gilbert probably isn't trying to make fun of her, and takes the flowers. "Is that all you wanted?"

Gilbert cannot believe his luck. He had expected Elizabeta to slam the door in his face, probably leaving him with a broken nose, but here he was, nose unbroken and flowers actually in the Hungarian's hands. "I guess…wait, no, actually…doyouwanttogooutwithme?" His words are rushed, a jumbled mess, and he is sure Elizabeta will use this against him someday.

"What was that?"

"I said…" He takes a deep breath. _Okay, this is it. You can't mess up this time._ "Do you want to…go hunting with me?" Seeing Elizabeta's expression, he continues hastily. "You know, just like before, when we were kids…with a bow and arrow, and then later we can—"

"Sure."

"Oh, that's okay, if you don't want to, it's fine—wait, did you just agree?" _There's no way she just agreed, that's impossible, that's—_

"Yes, I just agreed. When?"

Gilbert decides this is just a dream, but it's a good one so he continues on with the flow. "Whatever works for you."

"How about tomorrow?" He pinches himself, still in disbelief. Nothing changes, and he realizes _oh god this is actually happening_.

"Okay…I'll see you tomorrow. _Gute Nacht_, Elizabeta!" There is this warm happiness filling his chest, and Gilbert doesn't think the smile on his face will ever disappear.

"_Jó éjszakát_, Gilbert!"

* * *

Gilbert lays spread-eagle on the cool grass, Elizabeta right next to him. The day had gone by with nothing particularly special happening, but he had gotten to spend it with Elizabeta. That's enough for him. "_Köszönöm_, Gilbert."

He turns, hearing Elizabeta's murmur. "For what?"

Elizabeta sits up and takes Gilbert's hand in hers. "For…everything, I suppose. I guess I really needed a break." She laughs lightly, the sound perfect and absolutely _beautiful_.

Gilbert pushes himself off the ground and sits next to her, watching the stars twinkle. "It's nothing."

Elizabeta leans over, and gives Gilbert a soft kiss. He blushes, the color standing out on his pale skin. It's just a peck on the lips, but it's enough for now. "Maybe…maybe we can do this again? Go hunting together?"

"Maybe…" _Yeah, this could work._

* * *

**I just love love love PruHun...so much...  
this was a different style for me...sort of...present tense...and Gilbert's not really himself in this...ehhhh...**

**Reviews are love~**


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